


as every colour illuminates (we are shining)

by aceofdiamonds



Series: is that such a stretch of the imagination? [7]
Category: Gossip Girl, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a couple of days out of harry and blair's honeymoon, first in italy and then scotland</p><p>“You loved me last night.” Harry gropes for her arm, tugs her closer to him. When he lays his head on her chest her skin feels deliciously cool.</p><p>Blair sighs. “That was last night.” A pause. “I love you now.”</p><p>He likes the way she says it. A fact. “That’s good.” He lifts his head, both of them managing a grimacing smile. “I love you too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	as every colour illuminates (we are shining)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm making this all too light and happy i know. the next part (yes MORE) will be about their jobs and more serious parts of their lives i think. because i'm never going to stop. title comes from spectrum by florence and the machine

For their honeymoon Harry takes Blair to the south of Italy, near the area where they first met, because he’s always liked romantic things like that. As soon as the reception ends in London, Harry takes Blair’s hand and twists in the air, sun and sea and ice cream on his mind. They spend the first week lounging on the beach, the over-sized sunglasses on Blair’s face always reflecting Harry’s face in a warped way that makes him laugh when he ducks in for a kiss.

He never thought things would change when they got married, it’s not a tangible thing, marriage, just something they can say to show their love for each other, but ever since they said their vows and had their first kiss as a married couple in front of their friends and family Harry has been full with this indescribable feeling where he wants to be near Blair even more, wants to spend his whole day kissing her, talking to her, being with her, in a way that is so much more than before.

At the end of the day, Blair bronzed to the exact colour she wants and Harry getting a little darker each day, they spend a while in bed before going out for dinner, blushes high on their cheeks as their feet fumble beneath the table. They’re children, teenagers, stupid in love. To feel this way, to kiss down Blair’s body, to fuck her early in the morning before the sun’s fully risen, both of them sweaty with the heat and the desperate curl in their stomachs that sits within them throughout the day, drawing them to each other constantly, to feel all of this makes his life before, with the war and Horcruxes and death, feels like it must have been part of someone else’s life.

The second week they go up to Scotland, to Hogsmeade, because Blair has been wanting to see it ever since Harry told her about it months ago. The sun is warm on their backs as they stroll round the village, Harry pointing out spots from his Hogwarts days and Blair commenting on the style of buildings, the influence of magic that is so clear in a dwelling without Muggles. When the sun dips below the row of houses and the street begins to quieten, they buy a couple of bottles of Firewhiskey and smuggle it into their hotel room along the road, a couple of doors down from Madame Puddifoot's, the beginning of Harry’s romantic endeavors so close to the one he’ll be with to the end.

Blair gets drunk on the Firewhiskey, great gasping laughter bursting from her at everything Harry says or does. He takes a few gulps to catch up, tolerance slightly higher than hers, and then he’s laughing along with her when he takes off his t-shirt and dances around the room with it, his feet clumsy and his aim even worse, collapsing on top of Blair when he trips over a discarded shoe.

“You’re a mess, Potter,” Blair laughs, curling over on herself and laughing so much Harry blearily wonders if he accidentally cast a Cheering Charm on her, but she’s all there, all true, because when she notices that Harry’s kicked her shoe against the wall during his fall she admonishes him, finger wavering more to his ear than his shoulder when she says they’re her favourites.

“I’m your favourite, Blair,” he mumbles, mouth finding her neck, sucking a further mark where the bruise he left the other day is fading. He loves the way she smells, always light and somewhat fruity, or maybe it’s floral. He’s not good with scents but he knows what he likes. The whiskey rolls around his stomach, turning his head dizzy and fuzzy, and the delicate smell of Blair grounds him. He turns his head to kiss along her jaw, across her cheek, blindly searching for her mouth. When he meets it he takes the lick of Firewhiskey on her lips, savouring the burn in his throat as he moves so he’s more fully on top of her, arms wobbly from the drink when he tries to raise onto his elbows.

Blair’s still giggling even as she responds to the kiss enthusiastically, fingers scrabbling across his back, dipping down to the waistband of his shorts. They’ve arrived in Scotland during a freak heatwave and both of them have been drenched in sweat for days no matter how many spells Harry tries or parasols Blair carries but Harry can manage the heat when it feels like this, his body rolling with Blair’s, somehow familiar yet disarming every time.

They clumsily pull off Blair's dress together, the material catching on her fingers, both of them squirming until it drops to the floor, and then Harry is moving down her body, mouth pressing kisses onto her stomach, her hips, breaking for a second as he gets rid of her underwear. Blair sighs above him, laughter subsided, when Harry puts his mouth on her, tongue licking into her.

He thinks he enjoys the way Blair shouts his name when he brings her to the edge with his tongue and his fingers and the press of her thighs around his shoulders more than anything else in the world, although that list is long, and so he settles for saying it’s one of the things he enjoys the most. He loves when she surprises him, when she flips them over and straddles him with that grin on her face that shamefully still reminds him of Ginny some of the time. But he doesn’t think of Ginny when Blair’s nails skate across his chest and she rocks against him, desperate little moans falling from her mouth that Harry drinks up along with the Firewhiskey.

No. This is all Blair.

They juggle the bottle between them, that rushing feeling of being young and the youth he must have missed climbing within Harry when Blair spills a splash of whiskey on his chest and then cleans it up with her tongue, nose screwing up at the taste every time it hits her lips. He never wishes for a different life from the one he’s had, not even with all the terrible things that have happened to him, but sometimes he wishes that he could have had a normal life, if only so he could have his parents and his girlfriend and how it might have felt to sneak alcohol from under their noses and have the kind of drunk, otherworldly, experience that he has just now. It’s possible he’s getting carried away here, caught up in the irresistible combination of Blair and whiskey, but he thinks this is something that would have blown his mind at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, if he hadn’t had a completely different life at the time.

He tips the mouth of the bottle into his mouth while his hand balances Blair in his lap and all of a sudden he feels like someone he should hate, this lazy free feeling that follows him everywhere combined with the way he's he and Blair are spread across this room, at the top of these two worlds, shouldn’t be possible following the life he’s had, the people he’s lost.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Blair says, voice that right balance as she coaxes him back into the moment, away from melancholy thoughts, and when she takes the bottle from his fingers he lets her, replacing the whiskey with her mouth and feeling the burn and the rush regardless.

He lets go, focusing on the way Blair feels around him, her hands steady and warm on his chest, and he realises that he had that life where he had the pressure of a country on his shoulders and he met wonderful people there and he loves that life still but that doesn’t mean he can’t be happy with someone who has nothing to do with that part of him at all. He’s allowed to live.

  


.

  


They wake up the next morning with hangovers that drag them down under the covers and there they stay until the sun bleeds through the thin curtains in the telltale dusty oranges of late afternoon.

“Why didn’t you pack Hangover Potion?” Blair moans, flopping back onto the bed after her third round of throwing up.

“Forgot,” Harry manages to whisper, eyes closed against the thumping in his head. He forgets the morning after effects every time he chases after Firewhiskey.

“Idiot,” Blair says, hand carding through his hair, gently pulling out the tugs.

“You loved me last night.” Harry gropes for her arm, tugs her closer to him. When he lays his head on her chest her skin feels deliciously cool.

Blair sighs. “That was last night.” A pause. “I love you now.”

He likes the way she says it. A fact. “That’s good.” He lifts his head, both of them managing a grimacing smile. “I love you too.”

“What a good married couple we are.”

They’ve only been in this state for two weeks and Harry knows it’s not always going to be this easy but so far Harry is feeling great about the whole thing. Blair hasn’t disappeared yet so he’s guessing she’s pretty happy about it too.

“Harry?” she says softly.

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow’s our last day here.”

He sighs. “I know. We could stay here forever, you know. My Invisibility Cloak --”

“Serena’ll be missing me,” Blair cuts him off, hand curving down from his hair to cup his chin, removing any dismissal from her interruption.

“Ron’s probably going mental without me,” Harry agrees.

“But before we go,” she says, “could you show me Hogwarts? I don’t want to go inside, I know I can’t do that,” she rushes on, always perfectly aware of limits and parameters even if she doesn’t agree with them, “but can we go to the gates? You all talk about it so much. I just want to see it.”

Harry understands how she feels a little. Blair’s world in New York sometimes feels as foreign to him as the magical world first did all those years ago but the difference here is that if Harry tries he can fit into her world easily enough, and he has, more or less, but there’s nothing that can be done for Blair. He can bring her in as much as he can but she’s always going to be trapped out of certain parts of his world. You can’t teach magic to a Muggle, not even one as ambitious, intelligent, and stubborn as Blair Waldorf.

“Of course,” he tells her. “We’ll go tomorrow morning, okay?”

When Blair nods her thanks he remembers with a sinking feeling what Hermione had told him about the Muggle repelling charms placed on the school but he’ll find a way around them -- he’s broken enough laws over his lifetime, what’s a couple more?

  


.

  


“Hey, Harry?” Blair calls from the floor of the en suite. Harry would be in there with her if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not throwing up himself. He’s never drinking again.

“What, Blair?”

“As my husband, if you ever let me drink a drop of this vile stuff again I’m taking your wand and turning you into an ant. I don’t care about this Muggle stuff, I’ll find a way, okay, so promise me.”

“Promise.”

  
  



End file.
